


Domestic to Hospital

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Mycroft, Gen, Guilt, HLV missing scene, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: Missing scene - s3e3 - after Sherlock collapses during the 'client' meeting between the boys and MaryGreg's reaction to the way Mycroft treated his brother being missing, and the following aftermath of Mycroft seeing him in hospital





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



Greg walked into his shared apartment and threw his keys on the unit. Then he lent back against it and sighed heavily. And the day had been going so well…

"Gregory."

The DI didn't reply, ignoring the voice as if it hadn't been heard. 

"I know you heard me," Mycroft called out.

The sound of the floorboard by the door squeaking alerted Greg to the government official's presence. 

A few more seconds and Mycroft dropped his hand on Greg's shoulder, but the younger man ducked out of it. Avoiding the touch, avoiding Mycroft. 

"Gregory?"

"It's Greg, you prick," he snarled, folding his arms across his chest defensively. 

Mycroft's eyebrows shot up into his receding hairline. "Wrong Holmes." 

Greg shook his head, yes Sherlock could be a prick, he could be a complete and utter twat but not today. "Oh no. No. Exactly right." He paced across the kitchen, scowling all the while. He tightened his arms across his chest for no other reason than trying to calm himself. 

The older man watched him walk across the room, an air of anger in each foot step, it wasn't a usual side of his boyfriend that he saw. And it was hardly ever at home. 

"I've never called you Greg."

"Then try it. Only you and my mother call me Gregory and like I don't hate it enough when she's around."

"You've never said any of this before." And they'd been dating years. Mycroft looked his boyfriend up and down once. Once was all it took. "This isn't about me calling you Gregory. It's something else."

"Oh, very bright. The clever British Government can make a deduction. Can he make one more? Can he make that final jump?" He threw his hands up in the air and let his head fall back to thud into the wall. 

Mycroft frowned, hating himself for not being able to pinpoint exactly what was going on, the closest his deductions came were the Diogenes. Gregory always made deducing him difficult. "This is about what happened in my office today."

"Oh yes, I love being treated like a dog by an absolute arse. Embarrassing me in front of my subordinates and then waving me away like some lost sheep. Like I don't matter. Who the hell…" he trailed off, he knew bloody well who Mycroft thought he was because the fucking annoying thing was he was exactly that. 

"Greg-"

"No, don't. Don't even bother trying to explain it."

Greg was now taking deep breaths as he leant forward against the unit, his knuckles were white as he gripped the side tightly and his head rested on the microwave. 

Mycroft some how managed to make another deduction. "This has got something to do with the other thing you saw in my office," he put it into words eventually, unsure of the response he was likely to get. Greg seemed to be a ticking time bomb.

"Oh, the map you mean? No I'm not as unobservant as your brother gives me credit for. I do notice things. Things that concern my friends."

"Greg, I had work to do. I couldn't stop it for…"

"For what? Go on, finish that sentence. What could be so much more fucking important in Moscow than your own recently shot brother roaming London?"

Mycroft took a deep breath. "He was attention seeking, he does it all the time. You are more than aware of-"

"You are unfucking believable. Go on, tell me what was so damn important in Moscow!"

That made the government official look down, he felt guilty, he should have given Greg his full attention earlier. Not multitasking on a matter that wasn't of vital importance. In fact, it was fairly minor.

"Go on!" The DI repeated, raising his voice. 

"Just a fight in lower level politics," Mycroft's voice was low. 

"Oh. Oh right, so low level politics in a completely different fucking country is more important than your brother?!"

"He was-" 

"Don't you dare tell me he was attention seeking, and don't try and sell me some bull about him trying to find a hit. It's all bollocks."

Mycroft frowned. "Why else would he escape a hospital when as you've pointed out he had been recently shot."

Greg shook his head in disbelief. "If you had bothered to give it your full attention you might have worked it out! You were more interested in some shit in Moscow than your own brother. The brother that escaped hospital not to get high like you made out, but to help his friend. His best friend. Who had never needed his help more."

"What?" Mycroft straighten up slightly. "John? Is he dead? Or a threat to society as we know it?"

"Would you just listen to yourself?! For once! John… well, he could quite possibly be dead by the end of all of this and if not then yes he'll be a threat to society."

Mycroft's frown deepened and he stared at his shoes. 

"Your brother's back in hospital," Greg growled out after a while, "if you care, that is. This time they don't know if he will make it."

Mycroft's head had long since snapped up to watch Greg. "What?" Why hadn't he been informed? He snatched up his phone and saw 19 missed calls. Bollocks. 

"They said it's 80-20. He's already died once today and fought his way back. He's now got a 20% chance of surviving because you wouldn't give him the help he needed."

***

As they reached the hospital, Mycroft was in near panic, he had long since loosened his tie and undone his top bottom, but Greg couldn't bring himself to care. Not yet, at least. 

When they reached Sherlock's room both John and Mary were there, but on completely different sides of it. Mary was leant back against a chair, her hands slipped into the pockets of her jeans. 

John was acting completely oblivious to the entire room, staring up at the ceiling as if nothing was happening. 

Mycroft glanced the married pair over and could instantly tell what had occurred, most of it at least, but he should have seen… who Mary was… who she had been. He'd been blinded by the fact that since John had found someone else, he saw his brother far more. The brother he had seriously let down today. 

"That's what your brother practically killed himself for!" Greg snapped, resisting the urge to stamp his foot like a toddler… or like Sherlock would. "To help. To help John. To save John Watson, because he cares so much about him, he'd go through hell. And you didn't think him capable of that." 

Greg had stopped his rant as his eyes fell on the blond, who was still unmoving. 

"John."

"John!"

"Hey, John! Mate!" Greg dropped his hand on the doctor's shoulder. 

"Greg? Hi." He saw his lying wife, still here for some reason and then he saw Mycroft. 

The government official had moved over beside the bed, and stared down at his extremely pale and sick looking baby brother. 

"Any news?" The DI asked. 

"He's in a coma. They've sedated him because of the internal bleeding they had to operate on. He's lost a lot of blood, too much, not helped by his gallivant around London earlier," he turned his glare on his wife but she was staring at the floor. 

"Will he wake up?"

"They can't tell if he's still unconscious because of the sedative and the possible reactions that could have or if it's Sherlock's own body forcing himself into the coma."

"Did you hear that, Mycroft?!" Greg snapped. He caught the government official's eye and sighed. Mycroft's face was red and there were tears in his eyes. He was leant over his little brother's pale form, his nimbly hand in his bigger one. 

"Mycroft…"

"Don't. Don't, you're right. This is my fault."

"No," John interrupted. "This is Mary's fault."

Mycroft's gaze moved from his brother to the nurse. "How is it her fault?"

"Tell him!" John ordered, sharply. "Or I will."

Mary had faced many terrors in her time but Mycroft Holmes was a completely different one. 

"I shot him."

"You what-"

"It was me. John, I was trying to-"

"Don't bother trying to tell me you were protecting me." He shook his head in disgust. "Sherlock protected me and now he's dying."

"Mary, I think you and I need a word. Outside."

Before Mycroft could move to do just that, Sherlock's hand moved in his and gripped his finger loosely. "She was protecting John," he croaked, voice dry. "It doesn't matter."

The doctor rushed forward. "Sherlock. Good god… how are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot," he half laughed, half coughed. "And who's being melodramatic?"

"Hmm?" John tried to ignore the tears that had sprung in his eyes. 

"I'm not dying. I'm fine."

John glanced at the monitors, "let me be the judge of that. How are you even awake?"

Sherlock worked his jaw for a moment while John moved to fetch some ice chips for him. 

"Crunch on them."

"I've been awake ages. I just couldn't open my eyes." 

Mary stepped forward but John looked up with a glare. "Don't. You. Dare."

Sherlock wanted to intervene but then he noticed his brother. "Mycroft? You alright?" For once, there was concern in his voice. 

The government official had been stood stoic still, eyes shut as he cried silently, but the grip he held on Sherlock's hand was crushing. 

Greg stepped forward and dropped a hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "Babe, it's alright," Greg felt immensely guilty, but everything that he had said had needed saying. 

Mycroft turned and wrapped his arms around the DI, burrowing his tear stained face into his shirt. 

Laying perfectly still in bed, Sherlock looked utterly horrified. 

"John…" the word alone held enough question and fear in it. 

The doctor shoved his hand roughly through his hair and tried to smile reassuringly. "He's just worried, Sherlock. We all are."

The detective nodded slowly, "but I'm fine."

John picked up his hand and played with his fingers for some reason. "No. You're not. You're anything but fine."

Sherlock's smile was fake. "Alright. But I will be."

**Author's Note:**

> For iantolives, who never fails to comment and never fails to make me smile… or smirk like Sherlock


End file.
